


eros

by buu



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-14
Updated: 2016-11-14
Packaged: 2018-08-30 23:44:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8554387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buu/pseuds/buu
Summary: “I want you to feel like that always.” Victor's voice floats its way into Yuri's ears, and he blinks open eyes he doesn't remember closing. “Not just when you skate. This is the Yuri I see all the time. You should feel that way.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> mild praise kink and a mirror uh..wasnt planning on writing for this fandom since there are so many works already LOL...sorry this is bad!!

Yuri has always thought Victor was beautiful. Since the day he laid eyes on him, all flowing silver hair and gracefully arched back, skimming across ice... Yeah, Victor Nikiforov is beautiful. Ethereal and gorgeous and unattainable. Especially to someone like Yuri, someone plain and uncertain and lacking any of the confidence that Victor carries with himself. He's an unwavering ideal, taped gently to the walls of Yuri's childhood bedroom.

Said ethereal and gorgeous and unattainable man doesn't seem to have received the memo that he's, well, unattainable to people like Yuri, people who don't shine when they skate, who don't create their own spotlight. It's the only explanation there is for the way he's perched over Yuri on the bed—Yuri's bed, god—on hands and knees, long slim arms holding him up, hair falling in a wave over his eye.

This is a dream, Yuri tells himself, because that's the only time he's ever experienced anything like this. It has to be a dream, but there's an ache in his hip that usually isn't there in dreams, a bruise from falling. So if not a dream, then...

“Yuri.”

Victor's voice is very much real, familiar and low and something Yuri's heard over and over in his head for the past how many years? Too many. There's a flush creeping up Yuri's neck and down his spine and all over his body, probably. Victor shouldn't even be in his room, let alone pinning Yuri to the bed with that gaze, the gaze that's won the hearts of people everywhere through television screens, live interviews, magazine articles.

Is he supposed to say something? Yuri's mind is racing the same as his heart, his knees feel weak. He's suddenly glad he's not standing.

There's a hand, fingers brushing across Yuri's cheek, and he flinches before realizing it's just Victor—isn't that a laugh? Just Victor. Just Victor, touching him, breath tickling Yuri's face, eyes as intense as they've ever been. There's no such thing as 'just' Victor.

“Victor,” Yuri says, finally, voice embarrassingly high-pitched. This is why he's never had a girlfriend, probably—you know, aside from the fact that he's always been more focused on skating than girls. The hand on his face doesn't move, and Yuri swallows past a lump in his throat. “It's...it's late. And you're probably tired, right? So you should...we should go to bed.”

And Victor just keeps staring, keeps his hand on Yuri's face. He moves his thumb over, brushes it across Yuri's lips and god, is that supposed to feel this good or is Yuri just a freak? He knows, deep down, that he longs for Victor to touch him anywhere...anywhere at all. Hand, back, shoulder. But not like this, right? Yuri doesn't want Victor to touch his face or his lips or other places, places Yuri is suddenly very aware of with the heat in his body flowing down, down, down. This is weird. Victor is a man, and Yuri is a man, and then there's the fact that he's Victor Nikiforov, gold-medal winning figure skater, record-holding champion, possible actual angel on Earth, and—

Who is he kidding? Yuri would give anything for this. He's known it for years, deep down in a place he's never wanted to admit to himself. This is a real, literal dream come true—he's had several—and Yuri shouldn't let it pass up.

But he's frozen stiff, limbs locked and trembling. Yuri has never even kissed anyone, taken them up on their offer to sleep together. All those instances where Victor touched him come flooding back; hand, arm, lips, and Yuri closes his eyes. He's fully expecting Victor to realize he's made a mistake, to see Yuri for the plain, untalented boy he is, and leave. And there it is, the hand moving from his face, and Yuri's heart nearly breaks from the loss of warmth. He's messed it up. No, he never had a chance. Victor was teasing him, he's desperate, he's...

“You don't like it.” Victor's voice, genuinely disappointed, has Yuri's eyes blinking open, fast and shocked. That isn't the voice of someone who has changed his mind, but the voice of someone who's been...turned down? Rejected? Yuri's hands fly up to his chest, clench at the fabric of his shirt. He's horrified. Who in the world would ever want to reject Victor?

Him, apparently. But he doesn't. He's just...

“Scared,” Yuri blurts out without thinking, not realizing it might not make sense to Victor, who can't quite read his thoughts. “I'm...I'm scared.”

Another look passes over Victor's face, and Yuri wishes it would stop doing that. It's hard enough to talk when Victor is looking at him, even harder when he's frowning in a way that makes Yuri want to eat every negative word he's ever said.

“Of me?” Victor asks, and Yuri nearly laughs at that, hysterical.

“No, no, no.” Three times for good measure, breaths shaky. “I've never...I've never done this before,” and there it is, Victor knows he's a virgin—

“I know.”

And of course he knows. Yuri's only told him a dozen times he's not interested in girls, that he doesn't have a girlfriend and never has. Why? Because Victor exists, and skating, and Yuri doesn't have time for anything other than that. Because he always feels like he's being pitied, because he doesn't know how to talk to girls, because...because Victor exists. That's it. Yuri feels shame hot in his cheeks, but Victor leans in, presses their foreheads together.

“Have you wanted to?” His voice is low and soft, slinky in a way that makes Yuri's skin shiver. He shouldn't answer this, but there's something about Victor's voice that makes him want to spill every secret he's ever had, so Yuri just breathes out 'yes', and closes his eyes to avoid the look in Victor's.

He tells himself, every time he sees a sliver of Victor's skin, every time the man walks past him naked (which is strangely frequent) that it's because of his new routine, because of Eros, because of the way Victor skates when he shows Yuri what it means. Pleasure followed by pleasure. Something Yuri's never experienced before. He's curious, naturally, and Victor makes it look so good, so easy.

And then he skated it, and Victor watched him, and Yuri felt something else. He felt pretty. He felt desirable. Is this Eros, he'd asked himself, panting on the ice, cold coating the heat under his skin. Is this what Victor wanted him to learn?

Victor doesn't say anything to Yuri's words. Instead, he reaches up again, cups Yuri's cheek. Victor's hands are soft and smooth, and this time, Yuri opens his eyes. Victor is looking back, long lashes and blue eyes.

“You're beautiful,” Yuri breathes out, spilling something that's been sitting in his chest since he was little.

For a moment, Victor is silent and still, and Yuri is scared he's offended him. Victor really is beautiful, but maybe that offends him. Maybe Yuri's messed it up again.

But then Victor's fingers are cupping Yuri's chin, tilting his head back just so.

“Today,” he says, voice firm and serious, “On the ice, you were beautiful. You felt beautiful, didn't you?”

Yuri nods, because he did. Knowing Victor was watching, he'd wanted with all his heart to be gorgeous, to paint Victor's vision with nothing but him and his skating. Yuri is very seldom selfish, but he'd allowed himself this one thing, an unwavering desire for...for what?

For Victor, plain and simple. Anything, all of him. Whatever Yuri was allowed to have. If it is just his attention, that's fine.

Apparently, from the warm pressure on his lips and the sudden closeness of their faces, Yuri is being rewarded with a little more than attention. He's rewarded with his first kiss, soft and smooth and wonderful. Victor's fingers remain firm on his chin, guiding Yuri's head to the side, slotting their lips together more comfortably. And while Yuri's a little too stiff, doesn't know what to do with himself, Victor seems content to do it for both of them, moving his mouth in ways that make Yuri's breath catch in his throat.

When Victor pulls back, he feels like he might have died.

“I want you to feel like that always.” Victor's voice floats its way into Yuri's ears, and he blinks open eyes he doesn't remember closing. “Not just when you skate. This is the Yuri I see all the time. You should feel that way.”

What does he say to that? Yuri's mouth hangs open—rude—but he disagrees. He's awkward, plain, his glasses give him a baby face and he can't even go into a bar without being looked at like he's trying to pull one over on the owners. The Yuri of every day isn't the Yuri that had been on the ice, the one that had smirked at Victor and skated as though he were the most beautiful woman in town. The argument dies in his throat, though, when there are hands sliding down the plane of his stomach, dipping lower, fingering the waistband of his pants.

Oh god.

The hands still, and Yuri wishes he didn't feel disappointed because he doesn't deserve this. He doesn't deserve to wish for those hands to move lower, to slide under fabric and touch him. Yuri is mortified to realize he's half hard and they'd barely even kissed, but Victor is...Victor is beautiful and everything Yuri's ever wanted. His heart is pounding in his throat.

The look Victor gives him, half-lidded and questioning...

Yuri swallows. Yuri nods.

And that's it. The hand is swift in its path, sliding under and beneath Yuri's pants with the same practiced grace Victor does everything. Is it possible for him to not seem in control? Even when he makes mistakes, it looks as though he meant to do it, but this certainly isn't a mistake with the way those long fingers seek out the bulge between Yuri's thighs, quickly growing harder and hotter. Yuri, for his part, lets out a noise he didn't even know he could make, surprised and something else.

He thinks about Eros. Pleasure.

That's what this is, those fingers stroking slow and meandering down Yuri's dick. The noise in his throat is strangled, and when Victor's other hand comes up to finally free him, sliding pants and underwear down in one smooth motion, Yuri covers his face with his palms out of shame and horror. Victor is looking at his dick, and Yuri is so embarrassed he could die. Victor's going to be disappointed, isn't he? Yuri's...Yuri's seen him in the baths, he looks perfect and wonderful and yeah, maybe Yuri was ogling just a little, but could anyone blame him?

For his part, Victor doesn't look...anything. No surprise, no disappointment. In fact, there's a slow sort of smile creeping over his face when Yuri peeks from between his fingers. They meet eyes, Victor pumps with that perfect hand of his, and Yuri keens.

Embarrassing. He should die, but Victor seems to think otherwise.

“Does that feel good?” He sounds shameless, as though they're practicing jumps, or stretching. His hand strokes up and down, languid, and Yuri nods and makes another noise. It feels good, better than his own hand, better than any dream or fantasy Yuri has ever had. Victor smiles again.

Yuri bites down on his palm.

“You looked so lovely today.” Victor speaks as though they're having a regular after-skate conversation, if a bit low, but his hand moves in a way that's obscene, wrist turning, fingers seeking out spots that make Yuri's hips stutter. “Did you feel lovely?”

Why does that sound so dirty? Yuri wants to deny it, to say no, but he finds himself nodding just to hear Victor speak more. And he can't lie to Victor. Victor is his coach, his friend, his...

Victor's hand moves down, lower, cups Yuri's balls, and he moans. This is so unfair, he's inexperienced and Victor is working him down as if it were nothing. He wants more, wants everything, wants Victor to keep touching and talking and telling him that he's beautiful, even if Yuri doesn't believe it.

He wants to believe it. He wants to believe Victor.

This time, when Victor leans up and kisses him, Yuri does his best to kiss back. It's messy and wet because Victor's hand doesn't stop moving; Yuri's mouth falls open and he lets it happen, lets Victor's tongue press into his mouth and make his toes curl. Kissing is amazing, Yuri decides, mind hazy and half-there, and he makes another noise, presses his hips up so Victor will touch him again.

Suddenly, though, everything stops. The kissing, the hand; it's gone, and Yuri is left alone and shivering at the sudden loss of any contact. He's terrified for a moment, eyes flying open, that Victor is just teasing him, playing an elaborate joke, or that Yuri has upset him somehow. He's never done this before; is there some etiquette he messed up? Yuri's opening his mouth to apologize, when Victor lifts finger hand to his own lips—they look so red—and motions Yuri to be quiet.

“I want you to see something,” he says, soft and reassuring, and Yuri instantly feels calmer. It's strange how Victor's words can do that; Yuri nods.

He has no idea what Victor wants him to see, but Yuri trusts him.

He trusts him when Victor's arms reach down, when they tug Yuri's pants the rest of the way off, slide under his back and help him sit up. He's dizzy with arousal, lets Victor tug him back, and Yuri feels the warm press of a broad chest against his shoulders. Every rise and fall of Victor's chest presses it against Yuri's back, and he lets himself sink, lets Victor's arms spread Yuri's legs over his lap like he's a marionette.

Only when Yuri sees the mirror does he realize exactly what he's supposed to be looking at.

There's a noise of distress as Yuri's hands fly down to cover himself. He's absolutely hard, lower half pale and bare and extremely visible under the fabric of his remaining shirt. Yuri watches, horrified and embarrassed, as Victor's chin presses to his shoulder.

“It's just me,” Victor says, voice tickling Yuri's ear. “It's not anything I haven't seen.”

And that's...true, Yuri supposes. Victor has just had his hand all over Yuri's dick, and if he hadn't been disgusted or put off then, it's likely he's not going to be when he's looking at Yuri's half-naked reflection. It's just...Yuri has to see himself like this, and it's not something he's ever really cared for. Watching recordings of his skating, of his mistakes...he cringes, thinking about it.

Victor doesn't seem to mind. His eyes wander over Yuri's form, over the flush on his cheeks and the disheveled hair and the pink of just-kissed lips. There are hands smoothing over the soft of Yuri's thighs, and for some reason...for some reason, it helps him relax a little, sink back just a bit against Victor's broad chest.

He's very warm. The way he smiles in the mirror is even warmer.

“It's the same Yuri as on the ice.” Victor's voice is a matter-of-fact murmur, and his hand reaches up and ghosts over Yuri's dick again and he sees it, in high definition. “Is there anything different that would make you less beautiful off it?”

Yuri's in no position to think very hard right now, but...he supposes there isn't.

“Glasses,” he says, finally, voice a croak in his throat.

Victor smiles again, and Yuri's insides shift and flutter. He likes that smile. He likes knowing he's the one who caused it. It's entirely unreasonable to wish to be the only reason Victor smiles, but Yuri's wished unreasonable things before, and here he is: on Victor Nikiforov's lap, legs spread, dick in Victor's hand.

The other hand decides it's missing out on the action, and it moves up, cups Yuri's chin, tilts his head this way and that. Victor is unfairly coordinated, other hand still stroking and pumping as he presses fingers over Yuri's lips.

Yuri feels himself fall more and more into the mirror with every touch and pull and movement. Victor is right. If he's beautiful on ice, if Victor thinks he'd looked good...then this Yuri...he's the same, right? There's nothing separating them.

“You look good,” Victor confirms, and Yuri shudders at his words. “This is the Yuri I see daily.”

He wants to close his eyes, to drink in the feeling of Victor's hands over his body, to let his hips jerk and tremble into Victor's grip, but the words are striking Yuri in just the right way that he doesn't want to move his gaze. That's him, in the mirror; his eyes are half-lidded behind his glasses, his mouth pressed open just slightly under Victor's wandering fingers. The flush covers his cheeks and disappears under the collar of his shirt to show up at the head of his dick, the rest hidden by Victor's hand.

He wants to be this Yuri in the mirror, the one that Victor is saying such nice things to. Yuri lets his head tilt back against Victor's shoulder, feeling strangely buzzed and tired at the same time as head spreads up and down his limbs, through his spine, between his legs. His breath is hot and shallow.

“I picked Eros because I knew you could do it.” Victor's voice is so warm, so close to Yuri's ear. Yuri watches the Victor in the mirror watch him back, secret smile on his face. “And you did it. You were so good, Yuri.”

Yeah. He did it. Yuri won, and Victor is here. Victor is here and touching him and saying praise against his ear, and Yuri shivers and trembles and squeezes his eyes closed, feeling over-stimulated and hot. He can't look at that person in the mirror anymore, the way he looks so dazed and dirty and beautiful.

A soft cheek nuzzles his ear, silky hair tickling his neck. Everything feels so good, like something a boy like Yuri doesn't deserve—but no, he does deserve this. He'd tried so hard.

“My Yuri,” says the voice by his ear, and Yuri comes.

It shocks his whole body, sends him twitching and convulsing back against Victor's chest. It's probably the best orgasm he's ever had—of course it is—and the noises that work their way out of his throat don't sound like him at all. Yuri can't even be bothered to swallow them with the way Victor's hand works him through it, all teasing gone from his fingers like he'd planned the whole thing out.

When it's done, Yuri is left dazed and exhausted, slumped back against Victor's chest. He opens his eyes and regards the scene—Yuri limp a very satisfied looking Victor. He registers the mess, croaks out a sorry before Victor shushes him.

God, is Yuri exhausted. Everything from today is catching up with him.

Victor shifts, moves back, helps Yuri spread back out on the mattress. Yuri watches as he wipes his hand on a tissue, and in the time it takes, his worry and self-doubt come creeping back as Yuri wonders what happens next. He's never done this before, is he supposed to leave? Supposed to thank Victor? Probably, but that seems weird and awkward, and—

And Victor is sliding down next to him, pulling covers over them both, draping an arm over Yuri's chest. There must be an expression of surprise on Yuri's face, because Victor just smiles angelically and slides a leg between Yuri's own.

“We're sleeping together,” he announces, and...Yuri remembers all those nights Victor has prodded him, stood outside his door and knocked and knocked until he realized Yuri wasn't going to let him in.

Yuri, awestruck and dumbfounded, can't help it. He laughs.

It's a good sound, he thinks, like all his anxiety it pouring out through the sound. He keeps laughing when Victor laughs too, nosing at Yuri's cheek, bumping his glasses. 

In the morning, Yuri wakes up curled against Victor's chest, warm arms heavy around him. The blankets trap body heat, and Yuri feels pleasantly warm, a feeling that extends inside his chest when he watches Victor's sleeping face, slack and contented. To be fair, it's the best sleep he's ever had.

**Author's Note:**

> im still kinda on hiatus due to severe writer's block if anyone even remembers me?!? if you have anything youd like me to try writing you can comment and i may be able to do it...thank you for reading...


End file.
